{"id":1566,"date":"2021-04-24T09:13:00","date_gmt":"2021-04-24T17:13:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/judykaber.com\/?p=1566"},"modified":"2021-04-24T09:13:00","modified_gmt":"2021-04-24T17:13:00","slug":"raising-the-ghost-year","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/judykaber.com\/?p=1566","title":{"rendered":"Raising the Ghost Year"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
We swept into the new year\u2014danced the blitz\u2014\nthen staggered home to the hills of Los Altos, not as high\nas we\u2019d like to have been, the lost days falling from our arms.\nFour of us crowded into the cabin, slept on floors,\u00a0\nall black and white and gravelly gray. Remember the way\u00a0\n\nyou kissed me then, as if the world didn\u2019t mean anything\nand yesterday was just a song on the hit parade?\nI bawled and bustled, wrote poems, heard the Grateful Dead\u00a0\nsinging a storm, watched someone stir pots of soup in the park.\nYou sold the Saab, thyme spread like crazy in our garden,\n\nand all we talked about was getting back east. I saw\nDecember 31st riding on your shoulder. A ragged shadow\u00a0\ndid a flash-boom dance across the backyard. I couldn\u2019t\nshake free, found myself sheathed in months and Mondays,\u00a0\nsealed up in numbers. We dropped acid, counted out\n\nour food stamps for the next day\u2019s meal, rode north\nto harvest redwood driftwood from the beach in hopes\nof selling it on city corners, the exhaustion of the day before\nlike a tattered shirt on our backs, the smell of humanity\nrising, cars parked one behind the other, buildings\n\nblack as melted tar, but the road a shining path.\nThose days all scattered now. A whirlwind of years\nplucked and thrown along the street. Eventually we made it\nback east, split, took up ordinary lives, turned pages,\nlooked at books, lost\u00a0 years, papered in feathery days.\n\n\nAtlanta Review\nFall\/Winter 2018<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We swept into the new year\u2014danced the blitz\u2014 then staggered home to the hills of Los Altos, not as high as we\u2019d like to have been, the lost days falling from our arms. Four of us crowded into the cabin, slept on floors,\u00a0 all black and white and gravelly gray. Remember the way\u00a0 you kissed … <\/p>\n
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